


To Tiptoe

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Childhood, Cute Kids, Demon!Stein, Demons, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6968782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re a really cool angel!” she told him, and he nearly choked on his laughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Tiptoe

All he knew was that he was hungry.

He was so sick of being hungry. Such a human thing to experience, and barely ever pleasant. He’d have to find a way to make it so the feeling didn’t exist. But, really, in all the years of advancement on the planet, not a single person, human or otherwise, had thought of it before? He huffed, his keen, otherworldly eyes scoping out the neighborhood, on the hunt for proper sustenance. There was a scowl on his face as he clung to the dark corners of the suburban area he had found himself in, his pale, near-glowing green eyes surveying which human home would be best to slide into and raid.

It barely took ten minutes to decide on the one with the obnoxious flower garden out front. Outlandish, massive, garish.

Perfect.

He never felt bad for raiding from humans, but he felt downright justified raiding from rich humans with a terrible sense of décor.

* * *

Marie pouted at her mother. “But momma! I hate liver! It’s icky!” she complained, sticking her tongue out and making a disgusted face. Mrs. Mjolnir shook her head.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth, Marie. It isn’t proper.”

“I don’t care,” the girl replied.

“And anyways,” the elder continued, “it’s good for you.”

Marie scowled, folding her arms petulantly. Mrs. Mjolnir smiled, carefully putting the plastic wrapped flesh into the refrigerator along with the remaining groceries, and Marie crossed her fingers and wished with all her might that someone would come and eat it so she wouldn’t have to.

Almost as soon as the wish was made, her mother clapped her hands when she finished putting the groceries away and bent down to look at her daughter. “What do you say I braid your hair and then you can go to bed, hm? You have school in the morning.”

“But I don’t wanna go to bed! And I don’t wanna go to school.”

Mrs. Mjolnir suppressed a sigh. “Come on, Marie,” she coaxed, reaching out and smoothing the girl’s blond hair down. “You have to.”

“No,” Marie insisted.

“Do I have to tell your papa you’re being stubborn? ” her mother scolded.

Marie didn’t know why being stubborn was so bad, but the chide had the desired effect. Marie’s pout deepened before she looked down and nodded. “Okay, momma.”

Her mother grinned. “Good girl, Marie! You make momma proud,” she said, and Marie couldn’t help but smile at the praise as she followed her mother to the living room. Marie clambered up to sit on her chair while her mother went to fetch the hairbrush, and Marie went through her numbers in her head so she wouldn’t make a mistake.

Maybe if she counted perfectly her mother wouldn’t feel the need to punish her with the dreaded liver.

Marie felt another disgusted expression contort on her face just from the thought, but forced it to drop when she heard her mother come back in with the pink brush. Marie bounced back slightly in her chair, smiling.

“Alright sweetheart,” Marie’s mother said, gently beginning to brush her daughter’s hair.

“One. Two,” Marie counted, each stroke leaving her hair soft and silken. She had pin straight hair most of the time, but her mother often put it into braids or buns at night so it had some sort of curl come morning.

“E-elven?” Marie called out, and her mother smiled.

“El-ev-en, darling,” she corrected.

“El-vel-en,” Marie echoed, and her mother clicked her tongue.

“El.”

“El.”

“Ev.”

“Ev.”

“En.”

“En.”

“El-ev-en,” her mother said.

“Elvel-, elv-, el-ev…en?”

“Good, Marie!”

“El-ev-en. Eleven!” Marie said.

“Excellent, Marie!” her mother praised, and Marie blushed and giggled.

“Eleven. Twelve-“

Once Marie had counted up to twenty, with just a quick hiccup when she tried to say “Ten-teen” directly after “Nineteen”, her mother put the hairbrush down and quickly braided the young girl’s hair. It was only down a little above her shoulders, but it was long enough.

Mrs. Mjolnir gently patted her daughter’s head, helping her off of the chair and leading the girl to her room.

* * *

 

She couldn’t sleep. Her mother had put too many bobby pins in her hair and they were poking her scalp, making it impossible to find a comfortable spot. Instead, she only huffed, turning once more. Everyone had already gone to bed, and when she looked over at her Barbie clock, she saw that it was close to midnight.

Maybe if she played sick in the morning, she’d be allowed to sleep in.

Or maybe not. She never knew with her mother. Sometimes, batting her eyelashes worked, and other times, it backfired completely.

Sighing, Marie pulled her covers off, shimmying around until she wiggled off her bed, her tiny, bare feet hitting hardwood. Whenever she couldn’t sleep before, her mama always got her a glass of milk. And, well, if Marie could count all the way up to twenty, she figured she could pour her own glass of milk for once instead of risking her mother’s ire at being woken up, especially if she saw that her daughter, who went to bed at 9 pm, was still awake so late after her bedtime.

Slowly, clinging to the wall as if she were a Totally Spy, she tentatively stepped down the hallway, singing the theme-song under breath. The humming was barely audible, but it made her feel particularly cool when she went down the stairs, not prompting a single squeak.

She felt successful, like a real secret agent.

Which was why, she supposed, he was in the kitchen. Secret agents dealt with strange boys in their kitchens all the time, didn’t they? Her eyes went wide, and she immediately tried to duck behind a cabinet, her tiny yelp prompting the pipsqueak in front of her open fridge to turn around.

When she saw what was in her hands, however, she felt her mouth drop open before it morphed into a smile.

“I knew you’d come!” she said, her high voice somewhat hushed.

He looked aghast, surprised, and somewhat terrified of her reaction, only blinking at her. In the glow the open fridge provided, she looked like a cherub, and she nearly gave him a heart attack.

The liver in his hands wasn’t worth having to interact with humans. No way.

“I knew you’d show up,” she repeated, her eyes glinting. “I wished for you!”

He was flabbergasted at the kind of child she was. Who welcomed a demon into their home, especially with highly vocal acceptance? Maybe she really wasn’t human.

Slowly, she stepped forward, her little hand coming up and pointing at the liver. “Thank you!” she chirped, and realization dawned on him immediately.

That was why, then. She was a human girl, after all. Just a strange one: a picky eater. He lifted a brow. “You’re welcome,” he replied, quietly, deadpan. But she only beamed at him, looking ecstatic. He shifted around slightly, his silver hair catching the light, the consumed flesh still in his teeth.

Yet, she didn’t look…afraid of him. When she spotted the sharp claws on his hands, the claws the held the liver, she only morphed her mouth into a little O.

“Is that to help you eat the liver?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. He blinked at her, squinting slightly before he nodded and her face seemed to illuminate even more.

“Cool,” she whispered.

He shifted from one foot to the other, looking down at the liver in his hands and then back to her, deciding that she wasn’t going to leave anytime soon. Sighing, he brought what was left of the meal to his mouth, chomping down and chewing. Instead of freaked out, she only looked curious, stepping forward slightly to get a better look.

“You don’t cook it?” she asked, looking over at the stove. “You can if you want.”

“It isn’t my house,” he reminded her, shaking his head and wondering why he was indulging the silly girl in conversation. “And I like it raw,” he added, grinning so his gruesome teeth were on full display. She made an “ooo” noise when he did so, stepping forward even more.

“You’re a really cool angel!” she told him, and he nearly choked on his laughter. Her expression grew confused. “What?” she asked, pouting.

He only looked at her, blinking. “Nothing,” he replied, finishing off the liver and chucking the Styrofoam package it had been in to the trash, turning to the window so he could leave.

“Hey!” she called, stepping forward immediately, and he didn’t know why, but he stopped and turned around, sighing.

“What?” he asked, impatient. She was awake, so he’d have to find a different place to go to.

“You can stay here, if you wanna,” she said, rocking back and forth, and his brows went up. She wasn’t about to let her new friend leave so quickly, especially not since he just made her wish come true.

And on his part, it was…tempting. A stocked fridge, a large house, a girl who showed no sign of fear in regards to him.

If anything, it was a place to stay.

“For how long?” he asked, looking at her suspiciously, his face unfriendly.

Yet, she still didn’t look to be afraid of him. She saw who he was, sharp claws, harsh face half illuminated by the light of the fridge. But maybe she was just putting up a brave front. He hated to do so, since it strained his eyes so much, but when he squinted, looking at her soul, he witnessed nothing but warmth and acceptance.

“Forever and ever!”

She was actually telling the truth. What a strange girl.

“Promise?” he asked, tempted to close the fridge so he could rest his eyes. But he left it open so that, when he held out his hand, she would get a good look at his gruesome fingers, still not washed after eating the liver raw. But instead of stepping back, she immediately went to shake it, and, usually, the talons that were his nails would come and bit at the back of her hand. But they didn’t. There were no winces, no whimpers.

He just…couldn’t. There was no cruelty or contempt in any part of her.

And she only stood there, smiling at him, almost shyly.

Marie looked down at their joined hands, having only known of people in the movies who would do such things and indulging in the feeling of holding a boy’s palm against her own, regardless of how covered in icky liver it was. She only glanced back up at his olive with her own, earnest gaze when he coughed, looking at her curiously.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another fic for SteinMarie Week I am uploading like. . .a year late. Whoopsie?


End file.
